Noah

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I chuckle a little at the confused and offended look on her face. She's so easily readable. I put the pencil in my bookbag and turned to look at Gabriella again. 

"Don't call me sweets," she mumbles, looking everywhere but my eyes. 

I chuckle again. All the girls here are the same. Sorry, not Gabriella. She's different, but not too much to the point she's weird. I glance at the new girl beside her.

Yeah. She's definitely like all the other girls. She dresses like them and gives off that vibe. 

"Did you hear me?" 

My eyes snap back to Gabriella. The only reason I even know her is because I know her brother pretty well.

"Yes, I heard you," I say, trying to hide a smile.

She nods and turns her attention to the clock on the wall. 

I stare at her. She was so weird. Why was she offended by the stupid nickname? If anything, she should be flattered I am even talking to her. I find most girls at this school annoying and stuck up. 

_____

I was about to talk to her again. I couldn't. The bell rang obnoxiously, telling everyone to get up and go to their next jail cell. She immediately stood up and got her stuff together. I sigh and get up, too, throwing my bag over my shoulders and walking out. I head to my locker.

"Hey, Noah," I hear my best friend say. 

"Hey, Tyler," I say blankly. 

"You know the hottest cheerleader, Sarah, right?" he asks, shutting my locker. It makes me mad even though I did not need anything out of there anyway. 

"Yeah. I know Sarah. What about her?" I ask, annoyed. He finds everyone hot. What's so different about Sarah?

"Yeah, well, she was flirting with me this morning," he lowers his voice, "I want her, man."

I roll my eyes and lean onto my locker, narrowing my eyes at him. "Whatever. Just don't get her pregnant."

"Dude. What the hell?" he asks as I lean off my locker, heading to English. 

"What?" I ask, looking behind his shoulder at our other friends walking towards us. We are all super close because of basketball. Also, they all look up to me. It's weirder than others think it is.

Why are some stupid jock guys looking up to me? Why do they find me so great? 

"Hey, Noah," Liam chuckles, dabbing me up, patting me on the back, and then leans back, chewing his gum annoyingly with that "cool guy" smirk.

"Sup, Liam. Hey, guys," I say, waving simply with only two fingers. 

They all nod and pat me on the back before walking to class.

I sigh as Tyler still stands in front of me.

"Why are you being so...I don't know...weird? I just told you about my future wife, bro!" he says, putting a hand on his heart, acting like he's hurt.

"Oh, come on. You've knocked up more girls than I can count. You're more of a player than people see me as. I haven't even slept with a girl," I say sheepishly. It's true. I could've. I don't want to, though.

"Oh, whatever. That's because you're chicken," he says, shoving me playfully before walking to class.

He's the only one who knows that. 

I want to beat the hell out of him so bad. I unclench my fists and ignore the nail indentions on my palm.

He makes my blood boil. He brags about knocking girls up all the time, where he did it, and how. He always overshares. It's disgusting. He's the type of guy girls picture me as. Even though I am the polar opposite. Sometimes, I wish I was like him. Sometimes. He's still disgusting. He is my best friend; I have to accept that.

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I pull my bookbag up a little and walk to class.

"You're late," Mrs. Diamond mutters as I open the door.

"Yeah, sorry." 

I sigh and look around. The only seat open is beside... Gabriella? Jeez, again? I huff and walk over to the seat, ignoring the eyes focused on me by a majority of girls.

Gabriella is the only one who doesn't look over at me. She is doodling something in her notebook, her tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth, slumped over slightly. 

I chuckle and plop into the seat, looking back at the teacher. At least it's Gabriella. She won't bother me in class, asking about my good looks and making flirtatious comments. She has no interest in me. 

Good.

That's a good thing. Great. I get some peace. The new girl is sitting beside her. She doesn't seem to be paying attention much. She's looking down, fidgeting with her hands.

Okay, never mind. Maybe she isn't like all the other girls. She looks shy and nice. 

She notices me looking and looks at me. She smiles mischievously. It sends shivers down my spine.

Why is she looking at me like that?

It's not an "I like you" or "You're hot" type of look I usually get. It's weird. It's almost like she knows something that I don't.

I look back at the clock, wishing class would end quicker than it's taking. I have such a deep hate for school. I'm aware that most teenagers and children do, too. I think it's absolute hell, if not worse. 

Most guys here only care about what they call "making love." It's not love. I wouldn't know, unfortunately, but I am sure with some common sense, knocking up at least three girls a week is not love. Not only do they care about that, but they want to be popular desperately. They try to be so infamous just for a look from a girl who only wants them for their looks and reputation. 

I don't even understand love at this point, though. What is love? We are still so young, giving our virginities away to people we might never see again, most likely never marry and have a life with, so why are we doing it? For fun? For pleasure? 

People are so repulsive now. They do egregious things to be known. Things shouldn't be done for the excuse of popularity. It's nothing but putting more weight on your shoulders in the long run. 

I accept that I sound like a forty-year-old mother lecturing her children about what's right and wrong. The sound of possibly messing up a young girl's life to be popular makes me sick. It's a commitment, not a hobby.

I like being well-known and a good-looking guy, yes. However, at home, I don't see that in myself. I am falling apart. No one realizes it. Basketball is the only thing that is holding me up at this point. 

_____

My head snaps up at the relieving sound of the bell. My thoughts had been spiraling widely in my head as Mrs. Diamond's voice had faded. My thoughts kept getting darker and darker. I don't know what's wrong with me.

That's a lie. I know exactly what's wrong with me. I don't want to admit to it.

I hit my head aggressively in a constant pattern with my palm, like I am trying to knock all the dark thoughts out of my head as I walk out of the classroom. 

I have a free period. I walk outside to the basketball court and throw my bookbag down. I pick up the basketball lying patiently beside the pole, bouncing it back to the half-court line. I twirl it on my index finger, sighing in relief as I realize everything is okay once I have a basketball.

All that happiness quickly slips away as I hear that high-pitched voice behind me.

"Hey, Noah," she says, letting that stupid giggle out after my name.

I huff and turn around to look at her. "Hey, Liliana. I'm busy right now, so," I point behind my shoulder with my free hand, pointing toward the basketball goal. 

She nods, twirling her hair and fluttering her eyelashes. "Oh, come on. Let me play with you," she says, walking towards me, bouncing on her feet. 

I wince. "I want to play alone. Thanks, but no thank you." 

She rolls her eyes. "You don't want to see my skills?" 

"No."

She breathes in a quiet gasp. "Whatever, Hart," she sighs and turns around on her heels, her brown ponytail swaying left to right as she walks.

Liliana Walker. The girl who has been drop-dead obsessed with me since fifth grade. I, personally, have always... disliked her. She was possessive, even though we never dated and never will. 

Cheerleaders are on me all the time. I am not trying to brag because I don't enjoy it. Liliana is different. She sat on my lap, leaned in for a kiss all the time, and pinned me against walls. I'd say it's sexual assault. No one would believe me because who wouldn't like that? From one of the prettiest girls in school? 

I finally turn back around and get in position, taking in the fresh air and breathing it out slowly. I bring the ball up to right above my head, my hands placed on the basketball perfectly, letting it slip off my fingers as I push it out of my grasp. 

I smile as it swishes through the net, making that satisfying swoosh sound as it falls through the net. 

I might never have love, but basketball sure is enough to fill my heart to where I don't kill myself.


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